The Adept Archives: Volumes 1-3

by Darren Hultberg Jr

  The cryofox nudged him forward again as if urging him to reach out and grab it. Roy opened his palm, felt the energy of the weapon pulling him in. He hesitated for the briefest of seconds, his hand hovering above the blade. Then he heard a cry of pain in the distance and promptly grabbed onto the sword.

  Waves of spirit energy assaulted Roy’s body as his finger’s wrapped around the weapon’s hilt. The material felt soft on his cold skin, but that sensation quickly left him as his mind drifted to somewhere else.

  Suddenly, Roy was no longer lying in a pile of icy rubble. No, he now found himself standing on the edge of a battle-ravaged ravine. Below, thousands of men in obsidian-colored suits of armor approached from the west, a weapon held every single pair of hands.

  Roy shuddered as the army of soldiers began to march in his direction, the sounds of their boots loud enough to drown out thunder. His first instinct was to flee, but before he moved, he noticed another presence on the ravine’s edge. Standing nearby stood a tower of a man with fair skin, crystalline blue eyes, and spiky white hair. His features were sharp and angular, and patches of his smooth skin bore sparkling draconic scales. Where the man’s hands should have been were instead a pair of curved dragon claws, one of them gripping that same sapphire blade.

  The dragon man turned to Roy and gave a brief nod, then calmly returned his gaze to the approaching army and raised his blade into the air. The army grew louder as their march devolved into a stampede of flesh and steel. They were closing in fast... and yet the draconic man stood firm.

  With an unsettling calmness, he tightened his grip on the blade and swung it at the approaching horde. A massive wave of icy blue energy erupted from the blade, growing in size and strength as it cascaded over the ravine.

  Roy watched in shock as the wave of energy took the form of a mighty winter storm, engulfing the army as it slowly made its way over each and every soul that stood below. It was over in seconds and all that remained afterward was a glittering field of jagged ice. Roy could even spot frozen limbs and weapons jutting out from the icy field, though it was apparent that not a single soul had survived.

  Satisfied with the outcome, the draconic man turned and took measure of Roy, his crystalline eyes flickering in the light of the worldstar. It was almost as if they were gems carefully concealing the man’s inner fury.

  Without words, he reached out and offered Roy the blade, the weapon that he’d just watch decimate an entire army. That was the type of power he needed, the strength to fend off anything this crazy dangerous world had to offer. He hated to admit it but he almost craved it.

  Without consideration, Roy reached forward and accepted the gift, willfully pulling it into his grasp

  ****

  Roy’s eyes flickered open and he found himself on the floor of the cavern once more, his body tender and his spirit aching. It felt like he been gone for some time, but from what he could tell less than a second had passed. It was as if he was in some sort of dream... No, not a dream. A borrowed memory.

  Suddenly a screen appeared in Roy’s vision as he realized his hand was still resting on the sapphire blade.

  //////////

  Cipherion’s Tooth

  Relic of the 2nd Age

  History: This weapon once belonged to the blue dragon Alzon, son of the mighty dragon-god Cipherion. It was forged from the purest ice crystal deep in Eon’s legendary frost pits and blessed by Cipherion’s entire sect of high priests.

  Divine Power: If extracted, the weapon contains the power Deep Freeze.

  //////////

  Remley’s cry quickly brought Roy to attention as he turned to see the assassin strike him on the head with his baton. Blood slowly began to run from a fresh cut in the fire adept’s head, though the temporal aura made it spill impossibly slow. Dammit, they needed him... and this time he wouldn’t be deterred.

  Fighting against the pain, Roy rose to his feet and hoisted cipherion’s tooth into the air. A shot of icy cold energy suddenly coursed through his veins, running along his spirit channels and filling him with a power that felt like liquified rage. Icy blue lines began to form on his skin, starting at his sword hand and climbing up his arm before coming to a stop at his right eye.

  He trembled, barely able to control the power reverberating through the sapphire blade. Redoubling his grip, Roy centered his gaze on the battle in front of him, on his battered party and that damned assassin who’d nearly taken his life. Then, mustering everything that he had left, Roy swung cipherion’s tooth.

  An icy blue wave of energy rippled from the blade, cascading over the surface of the cavern as it picked up speed. The wave wasn’t nearly as impressive as the attack the draconic man had unleashed but when it hit the assassin, it certainly did its job.

  Frost began to form over Varyon’s body, penetrating his temporal field and stopping the man from so much as moving. Tiny slivers of ice solidified on the man’s torso and limbs, blooming into the shape of icy blossoms. It was almost beautiful in a deadly sort of way.

  Remley let out a sigh of relief as the assassin’s attack froze mid-strike, wavering just inches from his already bloodied face. A second later his grin returned as he met eyes with Varyon.

  Filled with rage, the assassin mustered enough strength to move his lips, to utter a single phrase. “I. Will. Kill. You. For. This!”

  “Pity,” Remley quipped, carefully wiping the blood away from his eyes. Then, not wasting another second, he promptly raised his sword and shoved it through Varyon’s heart.

  It was Roy’s turn to grin as he watched the assassin’s icy corpse collapse onto the stone. He wished he could’ve seen the look on Leila’s face, but the way she had positioned herself in battle had left her back to him. He wanted to ask her smug face if he’d proven his worth yet... but he couldn’t. Instead, the sapphire blade fell to the ground as his muscles gave way and he collapsed face first into the ice.

  Chapter 19

  A Dragon’s Preparations

  The realm of Eon, location unknown

  A ring of dust and debris cascaded across the ground as Zekefreid the Sky Shadow propelled himself into Eon’s darkening sky. Flight had always been his favorite technique, though most adepts assumed it was a skill exclusive to those with wind auras. He, however, was quick to prove them wrong.

  Another pulse of void energy sent Zekefreid propelling past the clouds and into the upper layers of the atmosphere where the air grew thin as sparse. He was certain that another pulse would launch himself into the edge of space itself, but that wasn’t necessary, not when his destination was so close. Zeke sent out another pulse of void energy, this time activating a hidden door that seemed to open up a hole in the very sky itself. Zekefreid passed through the circular portal, disappearing from view as the doorway vanished into nothingness and the sky returned to its normal state. Alas, he was home.

  Zekefreid’s feet found purchase on the smooth, stone floor of his lair. Large columns decorated the room, each of them carved with shelves that held infinitely valuable treasures on display. Above him, the ceiling seemed to stretch into infinite, glittering blackness, as if he were gazing into a perfect starry night. This place, this little haven of his always brought him a sense of calmness. It was one of the few places on Eon free of the dreaded veil and those disgusting darkbeasts. Not only that, but he had a personal laboratory, expansive training grounds, and even a small cache of divine weapons and tools. It was nearly perfect... well, except for the fact that he also had a roommate.

  Zekefreid took his time, waking down a long, starlit hallway as he passed by a number of black steel doors before finally reaching the main chamber. It was there that he sat... well, he wasn’t really sitting. The man hovered a foot above the ground, eyes closed, legs crossed and palms open. He wore loose-fitting robes that looked like black starlight and had short, spiky silver hair that matched his tiny beard. Though the man was roughly eight feet tall, the shadow cast behind him was one of a massive, mighty dragon. Zekefreid
stood in the presence of Bahamut, the Grand Dragon-God... his roommate, so to speak.

  Zekefreid carefully entered the room and approached the dragon-god, moving in silence as if he were entering the room of a sleeping child. That was more from habit though than anything else. The dragon-god could sense him from miles away, his power so vast that he could pluck Zekefreid’s spirit out of an endless sea of souls. That was just one of the drawbacks of being a God’s herald... or maybe it was an advantage. He wasn’t really sure.

  Suddenly Bahamut twitched, drawing in a breath that felt like the pull of a black hole. Even the subtle movements of a god were enough to cause widespread destruction, and Zekefreid had to brace himself just to keep his soul from being sucked out of his body. Then with a steady and even tone, Bahamut spoke.

  “You’ve been gone quite a long time, my herald,” the dragon-god said, his voice somehow both soft and thunderous. It was as if the words carried with them an invisible thunderstorm that came to life once they reached Zeke’s ears. In fact, if Zekefreid wasn’t as strong as he was, then he was certain that his head may have exploded.

  “Many apologies my lord, strongest of the dragon gods and ruler of the stars, skies, and all that he surveys,” Zeke wasn’t certain showering Bahamut in praise every time they spoke was necessary, but he didn’t really want to find out what would happen if he didn’t. He was still new to this herald thing, after all. “I was merely doing as you instructed.”

  One of Bahamut’s eyelids cracked open in the slightest, revealing an eye that resembled a tiny marble-sized galaxy. “How many?”

  Zekefreid motioned as if he were counting on his fingers. “I tracked down seventeen newcomers from earth realm, as well as a handful of others from Valion, a few from Aetheria and a pair from the realm of Sunder.”

  The dragon-god made the slightest of nods. “Do you foresee any future candidates for ascension?”

  Zekefreid placed a hand on his chin. A few of the humans had really impressed him, and the ones from Sunder were even more fearsome. “Perhaps... but it’s a bit too early to tell.” Zeke paused, then gazed at the god. “My lord, if I may ask... why are you dragging all these poor souls here from their home realms. If you seek to strengthen your sect of disciples, there are plenty of capable adepts already here on Eon.”

  This time both of Bahamut’s eyes snapped open and Zekefreid felt an immense weight pressing him down. It was rare that a god was questioned for his actions and even rarer that the person survived the ordeal. “Each day the dark influence of my brothers extends farther into the realm. Their agents of chaos continue to weaken structures that have been put in place since the second age. They strike out and hide behind the guise of that forsaken veil. At this point, their favor has grown stronger than my own... it’s as if they mock me, and I am the damned king of dragons!” Bahamut’s roar caused the interplanar structure to shake so violently that Zeke was afraid he’d be destroyed on the spot. “It is unfortunate, but their insight has grown too strong. If I am to bring this realm back from the brink, then I need to... search for paths to victory through more unconventional means. These newcomers, these warriors handpicked from across the cosmos offer us that chance... the chance to surprise the enemy... and you my herald, will ensure that they’re sent forth in the right direction.”

  Zekefreid nodded, though the whole thing had him feeling a little uneasy. Fighting to earn back the favor of your realm was one thing, but using warriors plucked out of time and space to do so? It all seemed a bit... contradictory.

  Bahamut let a soft growl come out of his human mouth. “You know that I can hear your thoughts, don’t you? Heh… and you are the one chosen to walk the realm in my image,” Bahamut shook his head.

  Zeke shrugged. “I suppose that makes things a bit awkward.” He never really signed up to be the herald of a god. Sure, he’d once been a young genius hungry on the path to ascension, but he liked working for himself. The fact that the dragon god had chosen him was a sure sign that pickings were slim.

  Finally, Bahamut ended his meditation cycle and rose to his feet, towering over Zekefreid in both body and spirit. “Your views are short-sighted, my herald. There are many powerful souls left on Eon. Together, with this new group of chosen warriors, we will build a sect powerful enough to bring order back to the realm.”

  “And then?” Zeke asked, taking the god dragon’s side.

  “And then, we prepare... bringing order to Eon is just a stepping stone. A shadow has begun to make its way across the cosmos, and we must be ready.”

  Slowly, Bahamut rose into the air once more and resumed his meditation, alleviating some of the pressure in the room. Zekefreid just sighed. Perhaps, if the gods hadn’t forged some sort of ancient contract to prevent them from directly meddling in human affairs, then he wouldn’t have to do so much heavy lifting.

  Or maybe, he just needed a new job.

  ****

  Water began to pool in the lowest chambers of icerock dungeon as its massive walls of ice began to melt into crystal-clear liquid. Now that cipherion’s tooth had been removed, the unnatural coldness of the dungeon was quickly receding and the remaining darkbeasts were heading out into the night, searching for new sources of spirit energy to draw on.

  In a small pool of water in the dungeon’s deepest chamber, something began to stir. Rising from the ice-cold water was a man in black adept’s attire and a vertical scar across his pale face... Varyon Risen.

  As the assassin stood a shadowy apparition swirled around his body, taking the form of a faceless man with unnaturally long arms and wisps of smoky aura where its legs should have been. This was Varyon’s divine power, his ability taken from the gods themselves... the power of the undying wraith.

  Extracted from a relic of a shadow god, the undying wraith gave Varyon the ability to cheat death. It was an immeasurably strong divine power, but it didn’t come without a price. Each time Varyon used the power to cheat death, the wraith would appear to take a piece of his soul as payment. One day, when he had no more soul to give, the wraith would drag him to underworld.... that is, unless he was strong enough to turn it away.

  The wraith hovered around him in silence, studying him with hollow eyes. Then without warning, it plunged its hands into his chest and ripped away a piece of his soul. Varyon grunted in pain as the creature cradled the soul shard in its hands, a glowing piece of blue energy that represented a portion of his life, his humanity. Then, as it had before, the wraith sunk into the ground, returning to its realm of the dead.

  Varyon stared at the creature in disgust until it finally disappeared from view, then promptly climbed out of the icy pool. Hesitantly, he reached his hand into his tunic and produced a large, crystalline orb. It was a fragment of his soul, a piece of him taken during his first bonding with the wraith. As part of the creature’s pact, it afforded Varyon this small memento, a token of remembrance from his first rebirth. It was as if the creature was taunting him, allowing him to carry a piece of his soul that he could never actually get back…

  After adjusting his tunic and returning the item to the safety of his pocket, he ran his fingers over the fresh scar on his chest. This was the third time he’d used this ability. The first had left a vertical slash across his face (an act that had taken his memory) and the second a scar at the base of his spine. He wasn’t even certain how many more uses he had left... but he couldn’t think about that, not now. Something strange was going on inside the man’s head.

  Varyon winced as pain flooded his temples and placed a hand on either side of his head. Typically, when Varyon was brought back by the Wraith he’d be hit with memories of his past lives, his past failings. That is, each life except his first.

  Now that was changing. Something during his battle must’ve triggered something in his brain. It was as if a dam had burst inside of his mind, releasing a flood of memories that he could barely identify as his. Images of a guild hall made of steel, of elders cowering from approaching shadows, memories o
f the fire adept in the red coat standing by his side. Had... had he known this man once before? Had he been allies with his most recent killer?

  Angry, confused and with a throbbing pain in his head, Varyon picked himself back up and began heading towards the chamber’s entrance. The assassin scowled as he passed by scorch marks and sword gouges left in the stone. He’d underestimated those dogs, had allowed them to get the better of him. And that flame adept with the red coat and silver sword had been oh so cocky. No matter, he would-

  Pain assaulted Varyon’s temples again as another wave of memories came crashing in… images of himself standing amongst an honor guard, images of him sharing a meal with others in a great hall, the man in red seated at a table in the room’s center. Varyon growled in frustration as the memories faded. “What the hell does this mean?!”

  Seconds later the memories faded again and Varyon’s nerves settled. He’d been an assassin for The Spiders for every life that he could remember, but these strange memories alluded to something different. Could there be more to his existence that he wasn’t told? Perhaps this kill could wait until he found out more about-

  Suddenly, dark aura began to swirl around Varyon’s feet, slowly rising to encapsulate his entire body in a cocoon of shadow. He stood completely still as the inky shadows flowed over his eyes, his face, blocking out his senses and leaving the assassin in an empty void.

  A lesser soul would’ve cried out in fear, but Varyon knew all too well what was happening. This little dip into the shadow realm was merely a method of long-distance communication, one used by his Lord and guild leader... The Shadow Adept, Jeryn Blackstar.

  “Lord Blackstar,” Varyon uttered, his voice firm despite being shaken just moments ago.